


The Unexpected Perks of War

by Daydreams_Daisies



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Daenerys Targaryen Deserves Better, Daenerys Targaryen Is Not a Mad Queen, Disaster lesbian Allys, Dragons, Eventual Romance, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Game of Thrones Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, Originally Posted on Tumblr, She's trying y'all, That's it, just dragons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:00:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23961982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daydreams_Daisies/pseuds/Daydreams_Daisies
Summary: Allys Baratheon is the only trueborn daughter of Robert Baratheon and Cersei Lannister. After the explosion of The Sept of Balor and the death of Tommen, Allys grew tired of the ghosts that hung in Kings Landing and set off to Dragonstone, hoping to find a semblance of safety.
Relationships: Daenerys Targaryen/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 49





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! This is a little project I'm doing on the side when I'm not writing for The Last Dragon in an attempt to keep myself from falling into an abyss of not writing for a year or two. And because I still love and miss my Queen so much. Enjoy!

_‘I shouldn’t be here. I should not be here,’_ repeats in Allys’ head. Two large men carrying curved blades and donning various furs lead her deeper into the old keep. The ancient castle thrums with magic long forgotten, the dragon’s roar from outside echoing in the hall. The ferocity of their roar causes the building to tremor ever so slightly, but the two Dothraki don’t pay it any mind. And with all the anxieties and fears bubbling to the surface, not having to worry about a castle collapsing on her is soothing; a victory Allys will not argue against.

It was a rash decision, the specifics of the plan not methodically thought out. Her mother would berate her. Venomously telling her naivety is how people die in Westeros. It’s what got most of the Starks dead and it’s what’ll eventually get her dead. But she couldn’t stay in that empty keep any longer. The ghosts of all the lives lost haunt the halls, their presence lingering in the corner of Allys’ eyes. It was near suffocating before, but when Cersei Lannister blew up the Sept of Balor, it became impossible to stand. She’d wake up some mornings feeling like a pound of ash has been lodged in her throat, keeping air from reaching her lungs. And in a panic, she’d fling out of bed desperately clawing at her neck praying for release, whether in life or with death.

Some mornings Allys would sit in the large library, finding comfort in the towering shelves stocked with books. It was always quiet here and usually empty. A place hidden from the terrors of the world and the cruel games of politics. But that safe haven was ruined too. Sometimes she’d swear she could hear Tommen; his boyish laughter echoing in the grand library as she nestled up with a book. Sometimes she’d follow the sound, clinging to the hope that her sweet little brother didn’t suffer a tragedy. But she’d never find the source of laughter, instead, the noise would dissipate into a soft breeze. Leaving behind despair and longing to fix past mistakes.

And so Allys left. Left the death and despair behind, hopeful for a new beginning in this desolate war. Her mother had grown mad with power and was no longer the woman she’d known. The woman who bore and raised her, shielding her from the drunken mess her father became as time passed.

But now she was in the castle of Daenerys Targaryen, whose father was undoubtedly worse than her mother. The only thing keeping her from high tailing out of the castle and off this island is her uncle’s presence. As the Hand of the Queen, he wouldn’t let anything happen to his niece, would he? But then again, these are strange times.

The two men stop in front of massive double doors. The stone doors carved with intricate designs of dragons soaring through skies. It was old but held a beauty to it akin to the rest of the castle. Two soldiers donning full plate armor and a spear stand at attention by the door. Behind the helmets, she could only see two sets of eyes staring straight ahead, not even acknowledging the presence of her or the Dothraki. And if it weren’t for the subtle movement of their chest from breathing, they could’ve been made of stone. In perfect sync with the other, they reach over and grasp the metal handles on the door. With no effort, they push it open and the stone moans as it moves, still unfamiliar with use. It seemed Stannis Baratheon abandoned the old castle when he went to war.

A pity.

The two Dothraki begin stepping into the large throne room, not bothering to check if Allys was still coming. Tentatively she follows behind them, the anxious feeling returning tenfold. The room was long and tall, the ceilings vaulted. Braziers lined the wall on both sides, causing the room to be well lit. Their footsteps echo in the otherwise quiet room. She stares at the ground watching one-foot step in front of the other, willing herself to not fall. A soft voice resonating in the room causes her attention to snap up.

“You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen. The rightful heir to the Iron Throne; Rightful Queen of the Andals and the First Men; Protector of the 7 Kingdoms; The Mother of Dragons; The Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea; The Unburnt; The Breaker of Chain.” a woman standing to the right beside the steps leading up to the throne said. She wears a dark dress, with accents of fur and leather. Her skin is dark, clearly, she hails from the East. Allys; gaze moves from her to the left side of the stairs, seeing her Uncle Tyrion standing by them. He wears a similar garb, but styled for a man and with a silver pin on his check signifying his status as Hand of the Queen. He looks anxious, but the soft smile in his eyes express his happiness for his niece’s safety. She smiles at him, small and tight, but enough to convey she’s alright, even if she was exploding from nerves on the inside. And finally, Allys’ gaze moves to the woman herself. Daenerys Targaryen. And boy is she a sight to behold.

Her gold-silver hair is pulled back into an intricate braided hairstyle, small piece framing her face. Her pale skin nearly glows in the room, the natural light from the window behind the throne illuminating her to appear almost celestial. Her bright purple eyes watch Allys carefully, daring her to make a move. The Queen wears a dark dress with a blood-red cloak, a silver chain with a three-headed dragon keeping it in place. The air of authority she exudes from the throne causes Allys’ brain to stutter. And she finds herself lost in the beauty of the Dragon Queen when her stern voice breaks Allys from her reverie.

“And you are?” she questions, raising a single eyebrow at her. Daenerys’ tone is smooth and like ice, causing a shiver to run up Allys’ back.

“Apologies my l - Your Grace -” Allys says, giving a swift bow as she stumbles over her words. “ - Allys of House Baratheon.” she finishes, feeling a flush forming on her cheeks.

“And why are you here? If I remember correctly, your mother and I are at war, are we not?” she asks. Allys’ eyes widen a fraction as her brain kicks into overdrive.

“I - uh yes, uh Your Grace,” she answered pathetically, the embarrassment increasing. For a second, Allys unreasonably thinks she might be thrown in a dungeon or something, but an amused expression lights up Daenerys’ purple eyes. And suddenly the small smile tugging at her lips soothes Allys’ anxieties, if only for a moment.

“I see. Though I am honored by your presence, might I inquire why you are here?” she asks, her tone slightly warmer than before. It appears, in Allys’ case, making a fool of herself has its perks.

“I uh - like dragons…?” she answered, immediately regretting the words as soon as they left her mouth. “And - and I didn’t know where else to…go,” she quickly saves, attempting to not seem like a simple fool. Her thoughts wander back to King’s Landing. To a time when her brothers and sister were still alive, and before her family fell into madness. The safety King’s Landing used to bring is long gone.

Noticing the somber shift in her expression and tone, a sympathetic expression crosses the Dragon Queens face, but before she can say anything further, Tyrion steps forward and faces the Queen.

“Your Grace, if I might make a suggestion. My niece is vastly different from my sister and can be trusted. Please, I beg that you allow her to reside in Dragonstone for safe-keeping,” Tyrion pleads. A warmth fills Allys as she takes a few steps towards him. She reaches out and grasps his hand in her own. He moves his gaze from the Queen to Allys. A large grin paints itself on her face before returning her gaze back to the Queen, who seems to be pondering his request. Her gaze flickers to the woman who’d spoken earlier and then back to them. After a moment, she reaches a decision and breaks her silence, allowing her voice to resonate loudly throughout the room.

“Lady Allys, please feel free to stay in Dragonstone for as long as you’d like as my honored guest.”

________________

After Queen Daenerys declared Allys would be permitted to stay at Dragonstone, Allys was swiftly moved from the room by the same two Dothraki men that escorted her in. Tyrion followed after them, keeping pace with Allys as he caught her up to speed on everything. She asked him about anything and everything - from the Dragon Queen to her dragons. Tyrion took her pestering curiosity with stride and answered each and every one of her questions - no matter how bizarre. It brought her back to simpler times, but she tried to not think about that too much. Often times the past is viewed through rose-colored lenses, and Allys didn’t want to fall into a state of melancholy - not again. So she distracted herself with anything her mind grabbed onto.

When they reached the room she’d be staying in, Tyrion dismissed himself with a promise of returning as soon as his work was done. So she flopped onto her bed in a very unladylike manner and allowed herself a moment to just _breathe_. She traced the ceiling a million times, imaging different images in the cracks and crevices on the material. She traced the walls with her fingers and flung open the empty wardrobe. She ran to her window, staring in wonder as the dragons flew by, imagining herself on one. She imaged the feeling of the wind soaring through her hair as she went so high up, she could touch the stars. But then her thoughts shifted slightly and instead of Allys flying on a dragon, Daenerys Targaryen was with her, taking the metaphorical reigns has they soared through the Seven Kingdoms.

However, her fantasies were broken by a knock on the door. Softly calling for them to enter, Allys turned to face the door. The door clicks open, not as loud as the main entrance had been, and in steps the Dragon Queen herself. She graces Allys with a warm smile as she steps into the room. Allys’ inside flare with a warm bubbly feeling at the sight, unable to keep the loopy grin off her face. But she quickly remembers her manners and clumsily bows towards Daenerys.

“Your Grace,” she mutters, feeling the familiar flushed feeling arising on her face. A light laugh as melodic as a tinkling bell escapes Daenerys’ mouth as she moves further into the room. Allys’ eyes follow her movements as she fumbles with her hands behind her back.

“Please My Lady, there is no need for our titles in private; you may call me Daenerys,” she said, standing in front of the four-poster bed, turning to face Allys.

“As long as you call me Allys,” Allys replies, feeling pieces of her confidence slowly returning. The tips of her mouth turn upwards, a beaming smile blooming on her face.

“Agreed,” Daenerys replies, turning and taking a seat at the foot of the bed. She pats the space beside her. “Please, if you wouldn’t mind joining me, Allys,” Daenerys said. Allys takes slow and small steps towards Daenerys, feeling more comfortable around the woman as each second passes. After what feels like an hour, Allys reached the bed and took her seat by Daenerys.

“I would like to begin by apologizing, I feel we might’ve started with the wrong impressions of each other. I fear I wasn’t as welcoming as I should’ve been,” Daenerys said, taking Allys’ hands in her own. The Dragon Queen’s hand was soft and warm to the touch, a stark contrast to the chill that seemed permanent on Allys’ own. Allys squeezes Daenerys’ hand in reassurance. Her heart pounds in her chest once more, but not for the same reason it had been in the Throne Room. 

“You have nothing to apologize for. You are at war with my mother, I can’t blame you for being suspicious. Though, I will reassure you by saying you weren’t unwelcoming by any means.” Allys said, meeting Daenery’s gaze. Icy blue locks with amethyst and Allys finds herself unable to look away.

“And for that I am glad,” Daenerys said, her smile mirroring Allys’ expression. “If I’m not being too forward, might I inquire about your marital status. I assume you aren’t married and your uncle has mentioned any possible suitors, but I would like to hear directly from you?” Daenerys asks. Allys’ breathe hitches momentarily at the question Daenerys posed.

_‘Could she possibly…?’_

“I - I uh - no, no husband or suitors,” Allys answers, memorized by Daenerys’ face. In the throne room, she’d appeared almost celestial, but now up close, Allys is sure that Daenerys Stormborn is otherworldly.

“Not interested?” Daenerys asks.

“Not until recently,” Allys answers, her lips tilting into a sly smirk, a glint mischief in her eyes. 

“Would it cause offense if I confess I would like to get to know you?” Daenerys asks, leaning towards Allys.

“I’d be offended if you didn’t,” Allys teases.


	2. Chapter 2

A loud knock on her door is the first thing Allys hears upon waking up. Sitting up, her dark hair, tangled and matted from tossing and turning all night, obscures her vision. She breathes in a deep breath and pushes away the hairs. Tangles get caught in her fingers, causing a few strands to get pulled from her scalp. Cringing at the pain, Allys simply tucks her hair behind her ears, careful to not pull on any of the knots and wipes the sleep away from her eyes.

“Come in,” she calls out, her voice croaky and uneven from lack of use. The door clicks as the person on the other side pushes on the handle. The wood creaks as the heavy door swings open, revealing a bright-eyed Missandei. Her attire is similar to what she’d been wearing when Allys first came to Dragonstone and her hair is styled the same, but somehow she brings a sort of...freshness to it. Allys has never seen Missandei look dull and lifeless, no matter the color palette of her attire due to the soft smile and beaming eyes she pairs with it.

And it didn’t take Allys long to figure out why.

In her time in the East, Daenerys went from city to city, using her dragons and an army that quickly grew each day to liberate the people of Astapor, Yuanki, and finally Mereen. Missandei had been in Astapor, as a slave translator to some master there. When Daenerys came to purchase the Unsullied she took Missandei as well… and then proceeded to kill all the masters and free the people. So it is no surprise that she and Daenerys are like sisters, something that makes Allys subconsciously smile, but also bringing a ping of sadness, reminding her of her own sister. Myrcella had been kind and good and so unlike their mother, and the world chewed her up and spat her out, as it does with all genuinely good people.

It had been a bitter pill to swallow when Allys’ uncle told her that the woman who poisoned Marcella, Ellaria Sand, was an ally of Daenerys. One she invited to Dragonstone to form an alliance with. It had felt like poorly made ale pouring down her throat whenever she wandered through the large castle and happened upon one of her daughters or Ellaria herself. Her fist clenching and unclenching at her side in anger, but without the power to do anything. So she was forced to let it go. And eventually, karma caught up to her when she was captured by Euron Greyjoy and dragged to King’s Landing. Allys isn’t sure what happened next, but she knows her mother did something horrible to the woman. But Allys couldn’t bring herself to feel saddened by her death. For once, her mother’s viciousness played in her favor.

“Good morning, My Lady,” Missandei said, beaming at Allys as she glides across the room towards her windows. Her heeled boots clack against the stone floor, the only proof that her feet were making contact with the ground. A stray curl rests on her forehead, bouncing with each movement. Upon reaching the windows, she throws aside the thick curtains that once blocked out the early morning sun rays. A flock of birds flies into view as they soar through the sky, unbothered by the storm that’s been brewing since Daenerys got her dragons. Missandei begins to move the curtains to their respective sides and ties them into a knot, forcing them to stay put.

“Good morning, Missandei,” Allys replies, her voice still shaky and groggy sounding. Finished with the curtains, Missandei turns to face Allys with her fingers intertwined as they rest in front of her body.

“I’m here to help you dress this morning,” Missandei said as if this was a normal thing.

It wasn’t.

“Don’t you help Daen - I mean, The Queen?” Allys asks, stumbling on her words when Daenerys was mentioned. And Allys cursed herself and her ancestors as the heat began to rise on her cheeks. A part of her hoped that the fascination she felt towards the Dragon Queen would fade with time, not wanting to become emotionally invested in someone who may die. But instead of dimming, as time went on and days turned to weeks, and weeks turned to months; all the while, Allys’ affection for Daenerys only grew. And while a part of her was convinced Daenerys felt the same, she couldn’t bring herself to do anything.

It was irrational really, considering the kiss they’d shared the first night Allys came to Dragonstone. Daenerys was warm and welcoming, often spending hours upon hours of her free time roaming Dragonstone and its surrounding island with Allys. They spoke about anything that came to mind; from the color of the sky that day to childhood trauma hidden behind porcelain masks and a gaze as hard as stone. Allys told Daenerys things she’d never dreamed of telling. And Daenerys returned the favor, whispering of the times with her brother Viserys - when she was a soft flower and nothing like the dragon breathing fire she is now. Yet still, Daenerys made no further moves, so like a coward, Allys shied away from her feelings, unable to open herself up to hurt if Daenerys had changed her mind.

“The Queen is away with Drogon and the Dothraki,” Missandei answers, throwing Allys a knowing look with a twinkle in her eyes. This only furthers Allys’ blush, turning her face Lannister red.

“Right, how could I forget,” Allys answers, eyes darting around the room, unable to meet Missandei’s gaze.

_‘She knows. Of course, she knows, how could she not.’_

“If you would prefer I can leave?” Missandei proposes, slightly quirking an eyebrow, but otherwise maintaining an even expression. Most time Allys couldn’t beleive that Missandei had endured all she did, being dragged away from her home as a young child and forced into slavery, serving vicous men who enjoy the suffering of those beneath them. She was so light and bright, bringing a warmth akin to the burning sun in the South. But there were times her past slipped into her actions. It was there in the way Missandei could quickly change her expression, schooling her facial expressions to reveal nothing.

“Oh no! That’s not - I just - I and - you usually - ” Allys stumbles over her words like a fish out of water. It seemed every time she opened her mouth, something ridiculous would come out. And not for the first time, Allys wishes she paid better attention to the lessons her Septa attempted to instill in her. The soft laughter coming from Missandei pulls Allys from her jumbled mind. One of her hands covers her mouth in an attempt to conceal the smile tugging at her lips. “Right, I um would love your help this morning. If you don’t mind, that is,” Allys manages to answer.

“Then I shall pick out a dress for you, My Lady,” Missandei replies, not missing a beat as she moves towards the wardrobe that now holds various outfits for any possible occasion. Gifts from her new host. It didn’t escape Allys’ notice that most were in black and red - the colors of House Targaryen.

“Missandei,” Allys said, watching as she opens the wardrobe and begins moving around the dresses.

“Yes?” she answers, not moving her gaze from her current task.

“Do you think you could braid my hair? I’d do it myself, but my hands are so shaky it never looks good. AndtheQueen’shairalwayslookssonice,” Allys said, saying the last sentence in one breath, her anxiety growing with each word.

Missandei watches Allys with an unreadable expression, causing Allys to immediately clam up. And before she can frantically spit out an apology and attempt to hide in her blankets, a beaming smile forms on her face and she gives a single head nod.

“Of course, My Lady.”

_______________________

“My niece you are practically glowing!” Tyrion Lannister calls from across the room, closing the distance between them. She begins giggling softly, unable to control the noises as they echo in the entrance of the castle, the tall ceiling carrying to sounds through the hall. Her footsteps _click_ all around them as Allys lifts her dress slightly and runs towards Tyrion. As they meet Allys bends down slightly and embraces him in a hug with a contented sigh. It’s warm and comforting as she wraps her arms around her uncle, basking in the familiarity of his presence. After a moment he pulls away, taking in her full appearance.

“Thank you, Uncle,” Allys says, managing to stifle her laughter. She brushes her hands down the sides of her dress, feeling the small embroidered flowers dance up her dress. It was pale pink with delicate white details. The design and colors are similar to something she’d wear in King’s Landing, though this dress is thicker than the light airy dresses she used to wear. “Missandei helped me this morning.”

“I could tell from the braids,” he points out, smirking slightly as he notices the braid style is similar to Daenerys’ hair. “You’ve always been hopeless when it comes to those things,” he teases, referencing all of Allys’ failed attempts at needlepoint. What was intended to be a flower, looked like a blob in pretty colors. And don’t even bring up the lion she attempted for Tyrion’s nameday. Instead of a proud lion in red and gold, it looked like a half-dead lion someone cut open. Allys would like to use her age of nine as a defense, but the point would be moot, considering her needlepoint never progressed past that age.

“I make up for my unsteady hands by being a master at chess,” she teases back, reminding him of the countless times she beat her uncle at chess. She used to play every waking hour, almost entranced by the game, attentively watching the tactics of each opponent. She’d play anyone willing: her Uncle Tyrion, Uncle Jaime, her brothers, at one point she’d even played Ned Stark. Yet the only person more insistent to play than her was Joffery, but for all the wrong reasons. One day they played and she crushed him. Joffrey, unable to let his pride be wounded by his sister - seeing himself as superior to her for the simple fact that he was a man and she was a girl - played her every single day. But with each loss, he grew violent and would throw the chess set on the ground, his face red with anger. After he broke the fifth set, Allys settled on only playing Tyrion, preening at the praise he offered after each victory.

“Something you never allow anyone to forget,” Tyrion said. A soft smile on his face as they both reminisce about simpler and much happier times.

“How was it?” Allys asks, referencing the battle her uncle had just returned from. Daenerys, along with Drogon and the Dothraki attacked the Lannister and Tarly army while they were on the road to King’s Landing after taking Highgarden.

“It was -” he begins, but trails off, unable to find the words.

“War?” Allys butts in.

“Yes, it was war,” Tyrion replies as he nods his head. A deep sigh escapes his mouth, his expression downcast. Allys feels the urge to change the subject, pretend people aren’t dying, and live in a world where everyone’s happy, but something grips her tightly, not allowing the words to leave her mouth. Not those words at least.

“And Uncle Jaime?” she asks, her mouth moving before her brain. Another sigh from Tyrion and this time, he rubs across his face with his hand.

“Not dead… I think,” he replies, his voice muffled by his arm.

“You think?” Allys questions. While the more distant of her two uncles, Allys still greatly cared for her Uncle Jaime. She understood his facade was a means to block away the pain; a way to be unbothered by the venom lacing the tongues of the people who whispered about him, their words like a whip lashing him. He covered his pain with arrogance and bravado, but Allys would see his facade slipping through the cracks in the quiet moments. When the harsh words of the court were absent and her father wasn’t being belligerent. Jaime Lannister was softer than he’d ever admitted. Even if he and her mother did questionable things, their bond just a touch closer than normal, he’s family. One of the few remaining on the list that grows shorter each day that passes.

“I didn’t see him die… I also didn’t see him after the battle,” Tyrion explains, moving his hand from his face.

“So an ambiguous ending… I’ll take it,” Allys said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m dying to get out of this dark castle and feel the sun,” Allys said, moving towards the exit.

“Of course,” Tyrion said, stepping away from her. “And Allys,” he calls out, stopping her in her tracks. She turns to face him, a bright smile once again upon her face.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said. And with a single nod and her smile getting even wider, Allys opens the door and steps out of the castle.

___________________

The sun while bright and inviting is far more deceiving than it had been in King’s Landing. While Allys assumed with the sun out, the air would be warm, the biting wind that whipped around her meant differently. But not even stray hairs smacking into her face and getting stuck in her mouth could stop the dopey grin on her face nor the warm fuzzy feeling slowly building into something more.

Standing exactly 20 paces from Allys was Daenerys, looking as regal as ever. Her silver hair was pulled back into an intricate style, suited for a queen riding into battle on a dragon. Her pale skin glowed in the soft sunlight, reminiscent of opal. Her clothes are dark in color, with a stark red cloak hanging off her shoulder. The cloak was held in place by a three-headed dragon clasp, the silver shining in the sun and nearly blinding anyone who dared look at Daenerys. The dragons fly high above but never get too far from her. And not for the first time, Daenerys seemed more like the Fire Goddess the Dothraki revered her as than the human girl Allys knows her to be.

The only damper to her mood was Jon Snow standing two paces from Daenerys, a touch closer than Allys ever dared get - in fear that Daenerys would hear her pounding heart. The newly named King of the North originally came here for an alliance, but upon refusing to bend the knee, he hasn’t left yet. By choice or by force, Allys isn’t sure. Either way, he’s always there, with his puppy eyes and brooding stare, constantly in Daenerys’ presence. And while Allys never felt any particular emotion towards him, an unreasonable disdain bubbles inside her whenever she sees him. And yet even with this perceived threat, Allys found herself too cowardly to say a word to Daenerys.

Daenerys’ purple eyes move from Jon, panning across the landscape until they land on Allys. Her eyes widen a fraction, her blank expression melting away as her lips curl into a sweet smile. Allys’ heartbeats erratically at the small gesture, her lips turning upward to mirror Daenerys’ expression. With mumbled words to Jon, not even bothering to look at him, Daenerys moves towards Allys. Her pace is quick, crossing their distance in 10 strides as opposed to 20. And before Allys can speak or even think, Daenerys throws her arms around Allys. Her embrace is welcomed, her warm body fighting away the chilling air surrounding them. On instinct, Allys snakes her arms around Daenerys as she soaks in their closeness. Her heartbeat is loud and more frantic to the point Allys fears it might stop.

But she’ll take the risk just to spend another moment in Daenerys’ arms.

And for a split second, she is convinced that Daenerys' heart is pounding as loud as hers, but quickly dismisses that notion. Instead, determining it was simply her own echoing in her ears.

Daenerys is the first to pull away but stays a pace away from Allys. And with an alarming revelation, Allys realizes this is the closest they’ve ever been. Her cheeks heat up again, as bright as they were earlier in the morning. Allys just prayed to any god that would listen that it could be passed off as a result of the cold. Either way, Daenerys doesn’t bring it up and for that, Allys is grateful.

“I missed you,” Allys said, the words tumbling from her mouth before she could stop them. Daenerys’ smile raises a fraction, bringing a hand up to Allys’s face. With bated breath, Allys watches out of the corner of her eye as her hand comes near Allys’ cheek. She lightly caresses it, her touch so light it could be mistaken for the wind, before tucking a few stray hairs behind Allys’ ear. 

“I missed you as well,” Daenerys said, her voice so soft it was concealed by the wind, only to be heard by Allys. “Your presence would’ve been a welcomed changed to an otherwise dull event.” Her hand trails from Allys’ face down her cheeks before faintly resting on her jaw.

“I never knew a battle to be a dull event,” Allys said, managing to keep her tone semi-steady even though inwardly she was bursting with each touch.

“I’ve found in the recent months any affair is dull when you are missing,” Daenerys replies. Her purple eyes watching Allys, soaking in every reaction on her face. Allys’ flush gets deeper and the warmth spreads to the entirety of her face. And suddenly she found it incredibly difficult to breathe. Yet the feeling wasn’t unwelcomed, as butterflies flutter in her stomach and her breathing wavers in anticipation. The anticipation of what? Allys isn’t sure.

“That’s a relief. Wouldn’t want to be on the bad side of the woman with three dragons,” Allys manages to choke out, hoping to play off the excitement building in her.

“No I suppose not,” Daenerys replies, not fully paying attention to the conversation as she continues watching Allys, and Allys makes no moves to stop her. “Your hair is different,” Daenerys points out. Her hands move from Allys’ jaw to her neatly braided hair, playing with the strands with her fingers, gently pulling on it.

“Missandei did it for me. I’m hopeless with my hands,” Allys said, finding herself once again entrance by Daenerys.

“It’s beautiful,” Daenerys said unconsciously, twirling the strands around her fingers.

And for a moment, Allys loses all sense of time. Blue eyes meet purple, both entranced by the other. Goosebumps cover Allys’ body as the hairs on the back of her neck raise, but not necessarily in a bad way. The anticipation within her builds but doesn’t go anywhere even as it grows larger and larger. The whistling of the wind goes in one ear and out the other as Allys basks in the close proximity of Daenerys, memorizing her scent and the small freckles covering her cheeks. A mixture of lavender and rose with a hint of ash, three scents she will never be able to smell without remembering this exact moment, despite it seeming so minuscule. But any moment with Daenerys is noteworthy, something to diligently take note of and hold onto forever.

Then suddenly Allys is snapped back into reality. Daenerys drops her hand and steps back from her.

“I have to leave, but would you mind meeting me here tonight?” Daenerys asked, her eyes boring into Allys’ once again.

“Of course,” she answers without hesitation.

“Until tonight then,” Daenerys said, Allys watching as she walked away completely unaware of Jon Snow as he passes or the Dothraki lingering near.


	3. Chapter 3

The seconds tick by, time ebbing and flowing in its usual pace. Guard rotations shift, the evening meal is prepped, and the sun slowly lowers as the moon prepares to take its place. Yet, every passing moment feels like a century to Allys as she impatiently waits for the keep to go to sleep, everyone except Daenerys of course. 

She wandered through Dragonstone, gripping onto any distraction that would come with an iron tight hold. Her footsteps echoed through the ancient halls, fingers tracing along it’s walls so many times she’d be able to accurately sketch the keep from the inside out. She floated through conversations like a phantom, mind always halfway in the clouds. At one point, she’d ended up in the library, bundled in a corner with a book that looked moments away from falling apart. Her eyes scanned the ink, flipping the pages and actually managing to read through it, but she couldn’t tell you the first thing about the book, not even the title. But eventually, light turned to dark; the moon brilliantly glowing in the sky as it glistened off the waters surrounding Dragonstone. 

The soft sand sinks beneath Allys’ slippered foot, and for a second she contemplates taking the delicate silk shoes off, eager to feel the sand between her toes. She longs to feel like a child again who was too wild to be proper, always frolicking about the shore surrounding King’s Landing, not jaded by the atrocities of the world. Not stained with the knowledge of the horrible things her mother and uncle have done, the sins her grandfather committed in the name of a golden legacy. Momentarily lost in her melancholy, Allys almost does it, if only to feel like that naive child again, but the fearsome roar of a dragon pulls Allys from her reminiscing. 

Flying high above the ground, Drogon lets out a ferocious war, the sound reverberating in Allys’ ears and she could swear she felt the ground beneath her feet tremble. The dragon was massive and terrifying, in shades of red and black, the colors of House Targaryen, but he was beautiful in a dangerous way. And if the sun wasn’t already hidden away while the moon shines bright, he would no doubt blot it out. She’s captivated by him, as she is with all the dragons, but Drogon demands her attention. He’s the largest of the three, named after Daenerys’ late husband Khal Drogo, and if someone told Allys his very soul resides inside Drogon, she would believe them. All of the dragons fiercely protect their mother, but Drogon does it with a ferocity that only a Dothraki warlord could possess.

Her gaze however moves to the form on top of the dragon. She knows who it is without needing to see her face, there’s only one person here that could ride Drogon so freely. Drogon begins to lower towards the ground, and Allys subconsciously moves to meet where he’d land. She grabs onto her skirts, lifting them up as to avoid dirting anymore than necessary, and just walks, any nerves and fears about being burned alive banished from her thoughts. Daenerys would never let any of them do that to her.

_Crash._

Drogon’s large form lands on the sandy ground, red eyes locking on Allys, opening his massive jaws and showing his razor sharp teeth that could rip her apart within seconds. But she’s not afraid. She continues her approach, the dampened sand squishing under her feet, water seeping through the silk shoes and onto her skin. Her eyes flit to Daenerys sitting on Drogon, looking every bit like the regal Dragon Queen she is. 

Her silver hair is pulled back into a series of braids, something Allys learned is a part of Dothraki culture, each strand curled and cascading down her back and spilling over her shoulders. Her bright purple eyes are already locked onto Allys, the harshness usually present in her War Room meetings replaced with a softness more akin to a child. Her pale skin glows in the moonlight, the stars casting beautiful highlights on all the right spots. Instead of her usual black and red attire, she’s wearing a dress in a light shade of blue, the fabric thick enough to fight any chill from the night air, but still breathable. Her signature three headed dragon broach is still pinned to her dress, holding in place her shimmering cloak that looks like dragon scales. A smile rests on her delicate face, filling Allys with all sorts of warm feelings.

She’s beautiful, by the Old Gods and the new, Allys is mystified by Daenerys and everything about her. 

Maintaining eye contact, Daenerys effortlessly slides off of Drogon’s back. Her feet hitting the ground with a soft thud. She moves towards Allys with the natural confidence she exudes, the easy charms she possesses always her biggest asset, only second to her dragons. In what feels like an eternity, Daenerys closes the distance between them. She’s close enough that Allys can clearly hear each breath she takes, but far enough away to be proper. And while she is only less than an arm’s length away, she feels like there’a a gaping canyon in between them.

“Thank you for meeting me tonight, Lady Allys,” Daenerys says, her voice like silk. 

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Your Grace,” Allies said, a teasing lilt in her voice. Her lips pull into a smile, bright enough to even blind the sun. The smile on Daenerys’ face widens as well. And if Allys’ smile is the sun, then Daenerys is the moon, captivating everyone with her soft and ethereal beauty.

“Shall we?” Daenerys says, guesting behind her towards Drogon, still in his same position, although he’s no longer baring his teeth and burning into Allys with his eyes. Her eyes widen a fraction, unsure what else to do.

“You mean we’re going to…?” Allys whispers, pointing at Drogon, hand low at her side as if she’s afraid the dragon in question will see. Daenerys looks behind her and then back at Allys, amusement brimming in her eyes, and she laughs. Not the quiet chuckle you give to Lords or Ladies from noble houses that you don’t want to offend, or the awkward squawk you make when in an uncomfortable situation. This is a real laugh, the kind that makes you throw your head back and close your eyes, that brings a pain to your stomach from laughing too hard. It’s loud, being carried away by the wind to every corner of Dragonstone, and it’s beautiful. 

In that moment Allys decides it’s the best sound she’s ever heard, that no minstrel, no matter how talented, could ever play a tune sweeter than this. 

“Yes, we’re going to ride Drogon.” Daenerys reaches out and grasps Allys’ hand. While Allys hands are cold and dry, her skin not accustomed to the weather, Daenerys’ are warm and soft, as if the fire in Drogon runs through her veins. She turns and walks towards Drogon, pulling Allys, who doesn’t put up a fight, with her. Her heart is pounding against her chest, a blend of anxiety and excitement coursing through her blood. 

A dragon, a real dragon. She’s about to ride a dragon. 

She’s in a daze as Daenerys approaches Drogon, reaching her hand out to caress Drogon’s scaled face. He nuzzles into her touch, a pur similar to that of a cat coming from him as he nudges closer to her. The startling size difference between Daenerys’ hand and Drogon snout is enough to make Allys stop breathing, yet he isn’t acting like a terrifying beast. In fact, he’s more like a domesticated pet looking for attention than a fire breathing serpent, and that’s what keeps Allys in place. 

For a moment, she has a burst of bravery, a need to impress Daenerys, which causes her to step forward and reach her left hand out to Drogon. He turns his attention to her and huffs, the breath feeling like summer heat against her skin, but to her surprise, he leans his head forward. The feeling of his rough scales under her fingertips is…odd, he was as hot as Allys imagined he would be, similar to touch the barrier between a roaring hearth. Allys is at a loss, unsure of where to move her hand now that it rests on him, then she feels something soft and cool in comparison to Drogon over her hand. 

She glances over and meets Daenerys’ gaze, her smile isn’t as large and beaming anymore, instead it’s weeter, more delicate, as if she’s afraid that this moment could disappear. Allys knows because she feels the same. 

“Here, gently pet him here,” she says, guiding Allys’ hand in the center of his face and in between his serpentine eyes. She guides her hand down, as Allys’ nails lightly press into Drogon, who purs in delight, until her hand reaches the tip of his nose, inches away from his teeth. The tip of his nose is soft like that of a dog, but not as wet. It’s nice to feel a sensation that is familiar to Allys. 

“I can’t believe it, I’m petting a dragon!” Allys exclaims, nearly breathless from excitement. Her eyes are wide and wild, beaming with the radiance of the sun. Daenerys laughs, this was softer than her previous laughter, but just as sweet. 

“What would you say to riding a dragon?” 

And Allys can’t speak, her brain refusing to work hard enough to think of something to say. So instead she squeaks like a mouse, nodding her head far too enthusiastically to be proper. But Daenerys just laughs, taking the hand of Allys’ she still grasps, and leads her to one of Drogon’s wings, Daenerys getting on first and then holding a hand out to help Allys up. The feel of the leather wings are strange, similar to walking on the carpets and rugs in The Red Keep, but tougher and with a better grip.

Daenerys helps Allys get onto Drogon, making sure she is situated behind her. Instinctively, Allys wraps her arms around Daenerys’ waist, placing her chin atop Daenerys’ shoulder, the warm fabric soothing her frostbitten face. A flush appears on Allys’ face from the proximity, but just snuggles further into Daenerys, the anticipation of actually flying turning her stomach into knots. 

_“Sōvēs.”_

Allys lurches forward, the sound of Drogon’s heavy footsteps beating into the beach. And they’re moving, slowly at first, but then quicker and quicker as Drogon picks up more momentum. Allys squeezes Daenerys just a hair tighter as Dany throws her head back, laughing in delight - the sound being swallowed by the howling wind. 

Just when they are about to hit the ocean surrounding Dragonstone, Drogon lifts his great wings and soars into the sky. The wind is cold and unforgiving, but Allys can’t bring herself to care, as the wind whips through her hair, instantly tangling it. The higher and higher they fly, the smaller everything looks below them. And Allys can’t help the shout that leaves her mouth, the sound mixing with the winds around them and the powerful roar Drogon releases. 

##  _**o0o0o0o** _

They fly around on Drogon for the next hour and Allys never wants it to end. But eventually, they begin to get closer and closer to the ground until Drogon lands with a thundering _thud_. Daenerys slides off of Drogon with ease, holding her hand out to aid Allys off of the dragon. When her feet finally touch solid ground, they wobble and shake, and if not for Daenerys holding onto her, Allys surely would’ve greeted the ground with her face. 

Flushing bright red with shaky hands and a racing heartbeat, Allys looks up at Daenerys. And Daenerys looks at her, cheeks stained red as well. 

“That was-- amazing. Thank you, so so much,” Allys says, still attempting to catch her breath, something highly unlikely with how close Daenerys is.

“It’s my pleasure.”

And then Daenerys takes one step closer, Allys mimicking her movements. Then suddenly they’re only a breath away from each other. And for the first time Allys truly notices how short Daenerys is compared to her. She always carries such a strong presence, Allys imagined her 9ft. tall in her mind. But she doesn’t mind. It makes Daenerys seem real, something difficult to picture for the woman who brought dragons back into the world.

“Well, I should probably return to my room,” Allys says, but makes no movement to move away. 

“Yes, it is rather late,” Daenerys says, the corner of her lips tugging into a smirk, mischief dancing in her purple eyes. 

With a second surge of courage, abandoning any fear and worry that lingers in her head, Allys leans forward, connecting their lips together. 

Kissing Daenerys is like taking a bite from the sweetest fruit. Euphoria rushes through her veins, her head growing lighter with each second. Her lips are soft and warm and oh so inviting to Allys. And if kissing Daenerys is like eating from the sweetest fruit, then her lips taste like nectar from the gods themselves. And Allys get pulled under, deeper and deeper into the ocean, not fearing that she doesn’t have the faintest idea on how to swim. 

And it's soft, gods it’s so soft Allys melts into her, getting as close as possible.

Daenerys weaves one arm around Allys and her other hand into the tangled mess her hair is, and begins gently untangling it. Allys puts one hand around Daenerys’ neck, as if she’s afraid she’ll disappear, trailing the other one from her waist up her side, then her collarbone, and finally up her neck, with a touch lighter than a feather. 

It’s pure bliss in that moment and in her haze Allys decided she must be dead. She must’ve died at some point and her heaven is every moment spent with Daeenerys. 

“Would you care to join me tonight, Lady Allys? I’m afraid I’m not used to the cold of Westeros and would welcome the company?” Daenerys is only a hair away from her, but even that feels too far. Too far gone in her euphoria, Allys forgets all about her pride, chasing Dany’s lips as she groans at the loss of contact. Daenerys allows her to kiss her again, laughing against her lips as Allys’ mouth swallows the noise. 

“Do you even have to ask?” Allys asks, still keeping their lips pressed together. “We should go now, while I’m still thinking semi clearly,” Allys mutters, but makes no movement to untangle herself from Daenerys. 

“Then let us make haste before we die from the cold!” Daenerys exclaims, pecking the corner of Allys’ lips before pulling her towards the entrance to Dragonstone. Allys laughs, the sound so foreign to her own ears, the sound nothing like the grief stricken tones she spoke with. They both nearly tumble to the ground far more times than either could keep track of, laughing louder and harder with each fumble. Neither of them seem to notice the sleeping people in the rooms they pass. They’re too drunk on each other to possibly care, only focused on the other. 

‘Perhaps we should be more quiet?” Allys suggests in between her laughter, small giggles bursting in the seams of her question. 

“It would be respectful of us, but I’m too happy to care!” Daenerys exclaims. And her eyes are bright, like two stars plucked from the sky and painted purple. It would be easier to liken her eyes to amethysts, but they wouldn’t do justice to their vibrancy.

And she’s beautiful when she’s like this, so carefree and glowing like the moon.

Eventually they reach the end of the hall, standing before two double doors. Back to the door, Daenerys leans forward, pressing a faint kiss against Allys, fumbling as she opens the door behind her. It clicks open and she presses her body against it to push it wide open, the loud creaking swallowed by their laughter. Daenerys pulls Allys into the room, the lock clicking close behind them. 

Maybe the dragons coming back to Westeros isn’t such a bad thing.


End file.
